


Far From Home

by paulrvia



Category: Queen of the South (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, idk whats the plot, just read it, smut ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 08:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15945974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paulrvia/pseuds/paulrvia
Summary: Teresa Mendoza was going to fulfill her grandmother's dying wish - to find the hometown boy she once loved and give him her last letter. Beacon, Maine is the last place she wants to go so close to her upcoming wedding. And worse, she ends up the talk of the town when a tumble into the ocean introduces her to James Valdez, the carpenter who saves her life.





	Far From Home

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I know everyone skips notes, but here is the first ever jeresa au. Lowkey only posting this to get y'all writing but enjoy. This is AU, inspired by The Irresistible Blueberry Bakeshop and Cafe. I was out of ideas, don't judge. Please leave kudos and comments if you liked it!!
> 
> Dedicated to Luna, for always being a great friend and advising me.

"Don't move, it's not safe!"

 

She heard someone yell, but it was too late. The wooden planks of the dock sagged beneath her and then gave way. Boards splintered, rotted lumber snapped, and she plunged ten feet into the frigid Maine ocean. 

 

Maybe there was a second when she could have seen the man running onto the dock, calling out for her to stop. If she had just turned twenty degrees to her right she would have noticed him racing across the beach toward the pier, waving his arms. But Teresa had the viewfinder of her Nikon camera pressed against her eye and was zooming in on something across the water—a statue of a woman in a ruffled dress holding what appeared to be a bucket of grapes.

 

As she fought her way to the surface, her arms and legs scrambling, her heart banging in her chest, and her teeth chattering from the cold water, Teresa knew she was moving and moving fast. A strong, swift current was spinning her around and pulling her away from the dock. She came to the surface coughing, the sea around her choppy, foamy, full of sand.

 

And she was still moving, heading away from the dock and the beach, waves hitting her, filling her mouth and nose with salt water. Her arms and legs began to go numb and she couldn't stop shaking. How could the ocean be so cold at the end of June?

 

Teresa tried to swim against the current, giving the Australian crawl her best effort, kicking as hard as she could and pushing the water away until her limbs ached. She was going into deeper water, the current still moving fast.

 

 _You used to be a good swimmer when you were at Exeter_ , Teresa tried to remind herself. _You can swim to shore_. The little voice in her head was trying to sound confident, but it wasn't working.

 

Panic raced to the ends of her fingers and toes. Something had happened in all those intervening years. She had not had time to practice the butterfly stroke. 

 

Suddenly the current that had grabbed her stopped moving.

 

Teresa was surrounded by mounds of black water and foamy whitecaps. In front of her lay the open ocean, dark and infinite. She turned, and for a moment Teresa couldn't see anything but more hills of water. Then she bobbed up to the crest of a wave and the dock and beach appeared, far away and tiny. She began the crawl again, aiming toward shore—breathing, stroking, breathing, stroking.

 

It was tough going and her legs felt so heavy. They didn't want to kick any longer. They were just too tired.

 

She stopped and began to tread water, her arms so exhausted she wanted to cry. She felt a searing pain in her chin, and when she touched her face there was blood on her fingers. Something had cut her, probably during the fall.

 

The fall. Teresa didn't even know how it happened. She had only wanted to see the town from the water, the way her grandmother must have seen it when she was growing up here in the 1940s. She had walked across the beach, opened a gate, and stepped onto the dock. Some of the boards were missing and a few of the handrails were gone, but everything seemed fine until she stepped on a plank that felt a little too soft. She could almost feel herself free-falling again.

 

A wave slapped her face and she swallowed a mouthful of water.

 

Teresa felt the Nikon twist and turn against herself and realized it was still around her neck, like a stone dragging her down. The camera would never work again. She knew that. With her hand shaking, she lifted the camera's neck strap over her head.

 

A memory of her last birthday flashed through her mind—dinner at the May Fair in London, her fiancé, Guero Davilla, handing her a box wrapped in silver paper and a card that said, "Happy thirty-fifth, Teresa—I hope this will do justice to your amazing talent."

 

Inside the box was the Nikon.

 

She opened it and let the strap slip through her fingers. Teresa watched the camera drift into blackness and felt her heart break when she imagined it at the bottom of the ocean.

 

And then she started to think that she wasn't going to make it back.

 

That she was just too cold and too tired. Closing her eyes, Teresa let the blackness envelop her. She heard the swooshing sound of the ocean all around her. She thought about her mother and how terrible it would be never to see her again. How would she cope with two deaths barely a week apart—first her grandmother and then her?

 

She thought about Guero and how she had assured him before leaving this morning that she would be in Beacon for only one night, two at the most. And how he had asked her to wait a week so he could go with her.

 

She had said _no, it was going to be a quick trip. No big deal. It's Tuesday,_ she had said. _I'll be back in Manhattan tomorrow_. And now, just three months before their wedding, he would find out that she wasn't coming back.

 

Teresa could feel herself letting go, letting the water take her, and it felt calm, so peaceful. An image of her grandmother standing in her rose garden, holding a pair of pruning shears, fluttered through her mind. She was smiling at Teresa. 

 

Startled, she opened her eyes. Across the dark hills of drifting water she could see the dock and there was something—no, someone—at the end of it. Teresa watched as a man dove off into the water. He surfaced and began to do a fast crawl, coming in her direction. She could see his arms shooting out of the waves.

 

 _He's coming for me_ , she thought. _Thank God, he's coming for me. Someone else is out here and he's going to help me_. A tiny place inside her chest began to feel warm. She forced her legs to kick a little harder and her muscles began to come alive again.

 

Teresa put her arm out, trying to signal so he could see her.

 

She watched as he came closer, her teeth chattering so hard she could barely breathe. She didn't think she'd ever seen such a powerful swimmer. He treated the waves as though they were afterthoughts.

 

Finally he was close enough for Teresa to hear him. "Hang on," he yelled, his breathing hard, his face red, his hair dark and slicked back by the water. By the time he reached her, her legs had given out and she was floating on her back.

 

"I'll get you in," he said. He took a couple of breaths. "Just do as I say and don't hang on to me or we'll both go down."

 

She knew better than to grab onto him, although she had never realized how easily a drowning person could make that mistake.

 

Teresa nodded to let him know she understood, and they faced one another, treading water. She looked at him and all she could see were his eyes.

 

He had chocolate eyes—light brown, reminding her of chestnuts in spring days.

 

And then all of a sudden, despite her exhaustion, she felt overcome with embarrassment. She'd never been good at accepting help from people, and, through some strange rule of inverse proportion, the more extreme the situation the more embarrassing it was for Teresa to accept assistance.

 

Her mother would say it was that old Yankee stock they came from. Guero would say it was just foolish pride.

 

All she knew was that at that moment she felt like an idiot.

 

A damsel in distress crashing through a dock, getting swept away, unable to get back to shore, unable to take care of herself.

 

"I can... swim back," Teresa said, her lips trembling as a wave splashed her face. "Swim beside you," she added, her legs feeling like cinder blocks.

 

The man shook his head. "No. Not a good idea. Rip currents."

 

"I was... on the swim team," She managed to say as they rose with a swell. Her voice was getting raspy. "Prep school." She coughed.

 

"Exeter. We made it... to the nationals."

 

He was so close his arm brushed the top of her leg. "I'll do the swimming right now." He took a few deep breaths. "You do as I say. My name is James."

 

"I'm Teresa," She gasped.

 

"Teresa, put your hands on my shoulders."

 

He had broad shoulders. The kind of shoulders that looked like they came from working, not working out. He squinted as he watched her.

 

 _No, I'm not doing this_ , she thought as she continued to drive her numb hands through the water. _I'll go in on my own_. _Now that I know someone's near me I can make it._

 

"Thanks," she said, "but I'll be okay if I just—"

 

"Put your hands on my shoulders," he demanded, raising his voice.

 

This time it wasn't an option.

 

She put her hands on his shoulders.

 

"Now lie back. Keep your arms straight. Spread your legs and stay that way. I'll do the swimming."

 

Teresa knew of this maneuver, the tired swimmer's carry, but she'd never been the tired swimmer.

 

She leaned back, her hair fanning out around her. She felt a spot of tepid sunshine on her face. They bobbed with the waves, their bodies suspended as they floated up and over the crests.

 

James positioned himself on top of her and Teresa hooked her legs around his hips as he instructed. He began to do a heads-up breast stroke, and they were buoyant.

 

She started to relax as she let herself be carried. Her head was pressed against his chest. She closed her eyes and felt the muscles contracting under his shirt with each stroke. His legs were long and powerful, kicking like outboard engines in between her legs.

 

His skin smelled of salt and seaweed.

 

She heard each stroke that cut through the water and she felt the warmth of his body.

 

Teresa opened her eyes and saw that they were moving parallel to the shore. She realized what had happened. She'd been pulled out by a rip current and in her panic had failed to realize it.

 

And because of that she failed to heed the most important rule of rip currents—don't try to swim against them; swim parallel to the shore until you've gone around them, and then swim in.

 

Soon they turned and began heading for the beach. She caught a glimpse of some people standing on the shore.

 

 _They were almost there_ , she thought, overwhelmed with relief. She couldn't wait to feel the ground under her feet, to know she had stopped drifting through darkness.

 

Once the water was shallow enough for James to stand, he picked Teresa up and steadied her, his arms around her back. He was breathing hard.

 

From where her head rested against his chest she could tell he had to be at least six foot two, a good eight inches taller than her.

 

"You'll be able to stand here," he whispered, drops of water falling from his hair.

 

She pushed away gently, taking his hands when he offered them. Teresa put her feet down and stood in the chest-high water. It felt like heaven to touch the sand, to be anchored again to solid ground.

 

Behind her, the ocean swirled and dipped into darkness, but just steps ahead of her, the beach sparkled like a new promise under the late day sun. Teresa felt her muscles relax and, for a moment, she didn't feel the cold. The more relaxed she was, the heavier her eyes felt, her vision shadowy. Letting go of the burden, she let them close, welcoming the unending void stroking her overwhelmed senses. 

 

Her body sagged forward, expecting to meet the ocean with a loud splash as she met a rock-hard chest instead. Strong arms held her, securing her scrawny body wholly. Leaning her head on his shoulder, Teresa tried to concentrate on the words said to her. 

 

"Breathe, Teresa. Breathe."

 

She felt his muscles flexed against her,  his chest heaving as he repeated the movements over and over again, simulating her. Slowly, she copied him, clutching onto him like a lifeline.

 

"You're safe." he mumbled against her damp hair, caressing it gently and mercifully with his rough, worn out hands. She eased into his touch, words calming her like a lullaby. Bodies melting into one, he continued to play with her hair, words stranded as he assured her. "You're safe."

 

Teresa wanted nothing more than to collapse into that embrace. And then she suddenly awoke from her trance, reality hitting her harshly as she unglued herself from the man's warmth and comfort. He stared at her with a startled expression, as though he could see through her. 

 

"I'm sorry," She gasped, aware suddenly of all the people looking on.

 

"I've... I've got to go." She turned and began to stride through the water as fast as she could toward the beach. She was shivering, her clothes sodden, her eyes stinging from the salt, and the embarrassment she'd felt a few moments before was nothing compared to this.

 

"Teresa, wait a minute," James called as he caught up.

 

He tried to grab her hand, but she moved out of his reach and kept pushing and pushing through the water. Two men in blue jeans raced toward them from the beach. One of them wore a yellow T-shirt. The other had a Red Sox baseball cap on his head and a tool belt around his waist, with a level that flapped back and forth as he ran into the water.

 

"James, are you okay? Is she okay?" the man with the yellow T-shirt asked as he helped her toward the beach.

 

"I think she's okay," James said as he trudged from the water, his blue jeans stuck to his legs.

 

The Red Sox man put his arm around Teresa and helped her onto the sand. "You all right, miss?"

 

She tried to nod, but was shaking so hard she didn't think her head moved at all.

 

"Cold," she grunted, her teeth chattering.

 

A burly man with a beard and a buzz cut came toward her. He wore a tool belt and carried a brown leather jacket. He placed the jacket over her shoulders and zipped it up the front. It had a lining that felt thick and cozy, like a fleece blanket. She was grateful for the warmth.

 

The yellow T-shirt man said, "You want me to call nine-one-one? Have them take you to the hospital in Calvert or something? Won't take long for them to get here."

 

She had no idea where Calvert was, but the last thing she wanted was to check into a hospital, where the staff would probably want to call her mother (not good) and Guero (worse).

 

"Please," she pleaded, trembling. "I'd just like to get out of here."

 

James came over and stood beside her. "I'll take you home."

 

"Come on," Teresa said, touching her shoulder.

 

She quickly began walking across the sand. He caught up and then led the way in silence. They went to the far end of the beach, where the dock was, where a house was being built. Three men were on the roof hammering shingles. She followed James to a dirt parking lot in front of the house and he opened the door of a blue Ford pickup.

 

"Sorry about the mess," he said as he moved a toolbox, a tape measure, a level, and some pencils off the front seat.

 

"Tools of the carpenter's trade." The water squished from her clothes as she sat down and a puddle formed on the rubber floor mat below her. Teresa looked down at her feet, covered in a fine layer of sand.

 

"I don't know what happened out there," she said in a half whisper.

 

"One minute I was standing on the dock and the next..." She shivered and pulled the jacket collar up around her neck.

 

James turned the key and the engine coughed and sputtered and then started. "You're not from around here, are you?" he asked.

 

The dials on the dashboard came to life and the radio glowed with a warm yellow light.

 

Teresa shook her head and mumbled, "No."

 

"The rip currents can get pretty bad out there," James said. "And that dock isn't in good shape. You're lucky I saw you."

 

Teresa closed her eyes against the memory of the current and the dock, but even more against the memory of his arms enveloping her, holding her as though he was the one drowning seconds before. An image of Guero floated through her mind—his warm smile, that lock of brown hair that always fell onto his forehead, the little wink he gave her when he liked something, his soft brown eyes, his trusting eyes. 

 

"Yes, I was very lucky," she agreed.

 

He looked at her and she noticed that he had a couple of tiny wrinkles on his forehead. His eyebrows were dark, but there were a few flecks of gray in them.

 

"Thank you," Teresa spoke up. "for saving me."

 

He glanced through the back window and put the truck in reverse. "Sure." He nodded, shifted into first, and pulled to the end of the dirt lot, by the road. They waited while some cars went by.

 

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

 

"You were really something out there. Where did you learn to swim like that?" She questioned after an awkward moment of silence.

 

James' eyebrows shot up. "That's quite a compliment coming from someone who swam in... what was it? The nationals?"

 

She knew he had to be teasing her, but there was barely a hint of a smile on his face.

 

"Oh... yeah, well, that was a while ago," She said as she watched water droplets fall from his hair onto his shirt.

 

His hair was thick and dark and wavy with a few wisps of gray that only made his overall appearance better. She couldn't help wondering what he would look like in a suit.

 

"So... were you a lifeguard?" Teresa asked.

 

He pulled onto the road. "Nope."

 

"So you learned it..."

 

"Just around," he said with a shrug, as he reached out to turn on the heater. "Where are you staying?"

 

 _Just around?_ She wondered how someone learned to swim like that just around. She put her hands in front of the heating vent. He probably could have been an Olympic contender if he'd trained for it.

 

"So you're staying where?" he asked.

 

"I'm at the Victory Inn," she said, noticing a tiny scar on the side of his nose, just under his left eye.

 

He nodded. "Brenda's place. And you're in town for... how long?"

 

"Not long," she said. "Not long at all."

 

"Well, you should get that cut looked at."

 

"What cut?" She flipped down the visor, but there was no mirror.

 

He pointed to her face. "Your chin."

 

Teresa touched her hand to her chin. There was blood.

 

James stopped and put on his turn signal. "That could really use a stitch or two. I know a doctor in North Haddam I could take you to—"

 

She felt a rush of heat in her face and knew her cheeks were bright red. "No, no," she said. "That's not necessary, really." The idea of him taking her to another town to see a doctor was. ..well, unsettling for some reason. She wasn't going to do it.

 

"You know," She blurted out, "people in Maine should keep their docks in better condition." She could hear the edge in her own voice but couldn't stop it. "I might have been seriously injured falling through that thing."

 

James looked at her, startled. Finally he said, "I'm glad you weren't injured—a talented swimmer like you. And I'm glad I was there to rescue you."

 

He flipped down his visor, the late afternoon sun having filled the front seat of the car with a golden hue.

 

Teresa thought he had to be making fun of her again, but then saw that his expression was serious. 

 

"Of course," he said, smiling now, "one thing people in Maine can do is read. Now if you'd read the sign...

 

What was he talking about? People in Maine reading? What sign?

 

"Of course I can read," she said, feeling even more defensive now, unable to control her strident tone. "I've had four years of college and three years of law school. I've done plenty of reading."

 

James picked a piece of seaweed off of the leg of his jeans and tossed it out the window. "Well, maybe you didn't notice it," he said, "but there is a sign there. There's a new house being built. In fact, I'm working on it. And the dock and the house are on the same property. The sign was put up so people would stay off the property." He glanced at her. "Especially the dock."

 

He turned to her again. “So you’re a lawyer.”

 

“Yes,” Teresa confirmed. 

 

“And what kind of law do you...well, do?”

 

“I work in commercial real estate.”

 

“Aha.” He scratched his chin. “So do you know much about trespassing?”

 

“Yes,” she said, sitting up a little straighter. “I know all about trespassing. I’m the firm’s expert in the law of trespass. I handle all the trespass cases.” 

 

A Toyota stopped across from us and James signaled for the driver to go. “A trespass expert,” he said, raising his eyebrows. 

 

“Do you have to get an extra degree for that?”

 

An extra degree? What a ridiculous question. “No, of course you don’t have to—” she stopped because the glint in his eye told her this time he was definitely teasing her. 

 

“Okay,” he said. “So with your background, all of your reading, and being a trespass expert and all, why didn’t you read the NO TRESPASSING sign by the dock? Or if you did read it, why did you go out there anyway?”

 

Teresa tried to picture the dock again and the beach. Yes, she could see the sign. White with black lettering. What did it say?

 

Oh, God, she didn't think it did say NO TRESPASSING. She began to feel queasy. She must not have been paying attention at all.

 

How could she have just walked right past the sign onto the dock? Now she was mortified.

 

As a swimmer, she shouldn't have been caught in a riptide, and as a high-powered lawyer she shouldn't have been trespassing. Teresa unlocked her seat belt with a loud click. She wasn't going to tell him. She could never admit what she'd done.

 

Teresa opened the car door and jumped out, leaving the seat oozing water.

 

"Thanks for the ride," she said, trying to sound tough so she wouldn't strangle him. She slammed the door and started up the front walk to the inn. Then she heard James calling her.

 

"Teresa. Hey, Teresa." He was leaning out the passenger window.

 

All right, she thought. Let him say what he wants to say.

 

She started to walk toward the car.

 

"Just thought you might be interested," he said. "they're having a sale at Bennett Marine Supply." Now the smile appeared and she saw his eyes light up. "Life jackets are thirty percent off."


End file.
